


Paths We Choose (R) Spike/Angel

by Spike_1790



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-08
Updated: 2012-11-08
Packaged: 2017-11-22 13:18:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/610247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spike_1790/pseuds/Spike_1790





	Paths We Choose (R) Spike/Angel

[](http://spikesjojo.livejournal.com/profile)[**spikesjojo**](http://spikesjojo.livejournal.com/) prompted me this: _"You'll fight, and you'll shag, and you'll hate each other til it makes you quiver - but you'll never be friends" I always thought this was about Spike and Angel and had nothing to do with Buffy at all - so how about a Spangel set after the end of Lover's Walk. I love the way Angel keeps getting himself between Buffy and Spike, so there is something there between the both of them. Maybe a bit of h/c? Angst? Hot sex?_  
  
I hope this is okay... :S  
  
  
 **Title** : Paths We Choose  
 **Fandom** : BtVS/A:tS  
 **Pairing** : Spike/Angel  
 **Warnings** : m/m sex, biting, bad language  
 **Rating** : R  
 **Prompt:** #329- Fixation @ [](http://tamingthemuse.livejournal.com/profile)[**tamingthemuse**](http://tamingthemuse.livejournal.com/)  
 **A/N:** Unbeta'd but partially proofread.   
**Disclaimer:** I don't own the boys. Joss won't let me have them. Bad Joss. Grrr...

 **Summary** : Set after the events of Season 3's 'Lover's Walk'. Spike and Angel meet and hash things out

  
  


That had been one of the worst laid out plans of his existence. And now here he was, holed up in a motel until sundown. It had hurt, seeing his sire pratting around with the enemy like that, but what hurt most was the look of devotion in his eyes. Once upon a time, that look had been directed at _him_. And now he had been replaced with Slutty the SuperBitch. 

Spike flopped down onto the bed. Pacing had done nothing to alleviate his aggression, and the only thing it had done was reiterate the smallness of the room. Four paper thin, blue wallpapered walls and a faded carpet in an unattractive shade of vomit. The bed wasn't much better. It made Spike's skin crawl to lie on it, but as his dearly departed mother used to say, 'any bolt-hole in a storm'. 

If only he'd stayed human, had never met Dru in that alley, had never gone to that party... He could have lived a short, unfulfilling life, probably dying a bachelor, but even that would be better than _this_. What had life become? Caught between two worlds, living and dead, unchanging, unending. If only he had stayed home that night... 

And all of this was Angelus' fault. The bastard. Whoever said vampires couldn't love was a moron of the highest order. Spike had loved Angelus. Had worshipped the ground his Sire walked on. And he was _sure_ it had been returned affection. Not now though. The poor bastard was Slayer-whipped. 

The ceiling of the motel room seemed suddenly blurry. Spike dashed a hand across his eyes, furiously wiping away the tears that he wouldn't admit were there in a million years. Angelus used to be a proud demon, and Spike had learned from the best. Emotions had no place in the life of the undead. Emotions got you killed. Just look at what happened last time Angelus opened up to someone; he got a whacking great sword through the chest. Of course, that was partially his own fault. Soul, love, blah blah blah... 

But Angel could have found a way, a dozen ways, of ending Spike's existence since their little spat in the shop earlier. His Sire had to know Spike was still in town, could sense it, blood calling to blood, and Spike's blood had been anything but silent. A tiny part of him he refused to acknowledge half-hoped that Angelus, Angel, or whatever name he was going by nowadays, would turn up at the door and... And what? Stake him? Beg forgiveness? Declare his undying love? No. Not while he had _Buffy_ to chase after like a little puppy desperate for affection. 

What could she do anyway? Kill him again? He and Angelus had fought a hundred times, and despite the threats and curses they screamed at each other, neither would ended the other. And he thought, but maybe it was a trick of his imagination, wishful thinking and all... He thought he had seen Angelus putting himself between the slayer's stake and Spike's own body. A half a step. A half a step that would have meant the difference between dust and... and this. 

And he _knew_ that if he could just look one more time into his Sire's eyes, that he would see the spark of passion, love, whatever, that had once been a furnace still there. He wouldn't look though. Just in case it _wasn't_ there. Because then he would have lost Dru and Darla was gone forever and Angelus wouldn't love him any more. And then there would be no reason. 

There was no stopping the tears that coursed freely down his face now. The ceiling was just an off-white blur in his vision. They stung his eyes, made him more angry. Throwing himself off the bed, he lashed out blindly, sending the cheap bedside lamp flying into the wall, leaving a dent behind and pieces of shattered light bulb glass over the floor. The bedside table the lamp had been on joined its friend on the floor, splintered beyond repair. Not that Spike was bothered. Bed sheets were torn to shreds, the sound of tearing fabric only bringing about more anger. It would never be enough. 

His duster and boots were kept safe only because they had been chucked unceremoniously on the bathroom floor the second Spike had got in the room, followed closely by the rest of his clothes before the vampire took a lukewarm shower that cleared away the rest of his hangover. He hadn't bothered putting them back on when he had dressed. 

Barefoot and angry, he destroyed the room. Everything breakable was broken. Everything tearable was torn. All that remained was the bed, stripped of its covers and yet still mocking him somehow. Enraged as he was now, Spike didn't feel the splinters and glass cutting his feet as he crossed over to the remains of the wooden table. Yanking one of the legs off, he spun on his heel, intent on finding the poor imitation of his Sire and ending the imposter's life for good. 

Before he had gone two paces, the door was flung open. There he was; the _thing_ that had usurped his Sire. With an animalistic roar, Spike launched himself forward. Any thought to his own safety was long gone, along with any finesse and control. His only fixation was on destruction. It made him a formidable opponent. It also made him predictable. Wounded animals thrash and claw and bite, but there's no strategy. And in that moment, Spike was nothing but a wounded animal. 

Angel caught his Childe's wrist easily as the makeshift stake headed for his heart, stopping the attack dead. Spike thrashed in his Sire's grip, snarling and in game face. Angel growled back. Spike changed tactics in an instant and sunk his fangs into Angel's wrist. The deep, rich taste of his Sire filled his senses and the blonde unconsciously relaxed slightly. Angel watched as the struggling slowed, then stopped completely. The table leg clattered to the floor and rolled to a stop by the foot of the bed. 

With Spike still suckling on his wrist, Angel manoeuvred the two of them over to the bed. His free hand stroked the soft blonde curls. Spike had stopped suckling and started licking over the small puncture marks. His eyes were nearly closed. All the fight had left him, drained away in a tangle of tears and violence and family. 

Angel tapped Spike on the nose, hiding a smile when the blonde scowled but didn't release the wrist he had laid claim to. Spike had always done a fantastic impression of a limpet; there had been many nights when Angelus had woken up from a good day's sleep to find himself wrapped up in Spike's arms, unable to extract himself without waking the blonde. 

He tapped Spike's nose again, and this time, the blonde let go. Angel sat up, surveying the extent of the damage to both the room and to Spike. The room was trashed. Nothing short of a blank cheque could fix it. Spike was not much better; his knuckles were battered and bruised, and his feet were bleeding. Tiny drops of blood stained the mattress where he lay. 

Angel sighed. Spike had at least a dozen bad habits, and the worst of them was his pride. Angelus had beat the fledgling William for the showing any weakness, to the point where Spike had caused himself nasty injuries and excruciating pain without flinching. A little bit of glass, while painful, wasn't something Spike would deal with while Angel was around. No, he'd wait until he was alone again, even if that meant he's be reopening healed wounds to pull the tiny pieces of glass out. 

Heaving himself to the foot of the bed, where Spike's feet happened to be, Angel glanced back at the blonde. The piercing blue eyes were open fully again and regarding him silently but curiously. Slowly, so as not to startle the younger vampire, he grasped one slender ankle. Spike sat up against the headboard and tried to pull his foot free of Angel's firm hold. 

“Stay still,” Angel growled. Spike did as he was commanded, but sat rigidly, all his muscles tensed. Satisfied his wayward Childe would behave for the time being, Angel set to work. He winced in sympathy when he touched a fairly large, curved piece of glass and Spike flinched. It was a minute movement, purely reflexive, but it was still there and Spike knew Angel had seen it. 

Belatedly, Spike realised that Angel had demanded he stayed still, but hadn't said anything about talking. If Angel hadn't got his foot held hostage, he would have kicked himself, and then kicked Angel too for good measure. 

“Why are you here 'Gelus? And what are you doing?” he asked, trying to sound as Spike-like as possible to disguise the tremor in his voice. 

Angel scowled. “I'm fixing your mistakes, as usual,” he said, addressing Spike's bony toes. “You put Cordelia in the hospital, y'know.” 

“Who's that then? The shop keeper? Thought she died,” Spike shrugged. He flinched again as Angel none too gently pulled another shard of glass from his heel. 

“Not her. Xander's girlfriend,” Angel supplied. At Spike's blank look he continued, “the boy you kidnapped.”

“Oh. _Him._ The witch?” 

“No. That's Willow. Cordelia's the cheerleader.” 

“Huh. Would have remembered trying to off a cheerleader. You sure it wasn't the witch?” 

“Why would you think that?” Angel asked, rubbing his thumb over the arch of the foot he'd finished divesting of glass and wood splinters. Spike had to stop himself pressing further into Angel's touch. As it was, he pouted when the touching stopped, but the pout turned into a tiny smile when Angel began fixing the damage to the other foot. “Spike?” 

“Hmm?” 

“Why would you think Willow and Xander were dating?” 

“Because any idiot can see she's in love with him. Don't the pheromones choke you every time they're in the same room?” 

Angel paused his ministrations. Yes, he'd been aware of the excessively high levels of pheromones, but as he'd never spent a great deal of time with Willow and Xander without Cordelia, Buffy, and Oz being around too, he'd never noticed what Spike had. “Love? No, they're just friends.” 

Spike barked out a derisive laugh. “You're a pillock, you know that? Never could see what was right in front of your face.” 

“What's that meant to mean?” 

“Means what it means. Like what I said earlier, about you and whatshername.” 

Angel growled. “Don't go there Spike.” 

For some reason he knew he'd be questioning for the rest of his existence, the next words out of Spike's mouth were “do you still love me?” Angel froze, like a deer caught in the headlights of an 18-wheel truck. His grip tightened on Spike's ankle as a hundred answers fought their way to the forefront of his mind. Spike shook his head. “Forget I said anything. I hate you, you hate me; anything different and the universe falls into complete chaos. You're hurting me, by the way.” 

Angel looked down to where he was still clutching Spike's bony ankle. He let go as though Spike's body had been coated in holy water and Angel would be burned to a crisp if his touch lingered any longer. Dark smudges of bruises showed where his finger's had pressed. 

Spike's skin had always been so beautifully bruisable. The pale skin and delicate bone structure belied the both the powerful demon and the strong-willed man inside. Angelus had taken great pleasure in hurting Spike. 

He was so lost in the memories of young Spike's screams and the rainbows of colours on his beaten flesh that he didn't notice Spike sitting up and moving closer until they were nose to nose. Spike's cool breath ghosted over Angel's lips. Spike closed the gap between them, pressing his mouth to Angel's, begging entrance. The older vampire accepted the kiss readily, moaning at the long forgotten sensation. Blunt teeth nibbled gently on his tongue before nipping sharply, hard enough to draw blood. 

Angel drew back from the assault. “What the hell?!” 

Spike grinned unashamedly. “It's all the same with us, ain't it? Fighting, shagging, hating, loving... You and me, 'Gelus, we were good together. Could be again, if you'd just admit it. I can be forgiving. Well, I can try. All you have to do is be mine again.” 

Angel shook his head. “That can't happen, Spike. I'm not the man I was.” 

“Bollocks. I'm not the man I was either. The men we were died in alleyways back in the days of old, and the demons that took their place haven't changed in centuries.” 

Angel gave a soulful sigh that set Spike's teeth on edge in much the same way fingernails on a chalk board would do. Angel could do his deep, 'searching for redemption' routine for the Slayer, but there was no denying that those dark eyes were betraying just how tempted Angel was. 

Making the decision for his Sire, Spike shoved Angel backwards, tipping him neatly onto the mattress, covering the larger body with his own, and drawing Angel into another furious kiss. Angel arched up, half to throw Spike off and half to increase the contact of their bodies. 

Feeling Angel's aching hardness spurred Spike on and he thrust against his Sire's muscular body. Angel moaned in response. They thrust together until the rough rub of denim over sensitive skin became too much and Angel flipped the two of them over. In seconds, he had torn Spike's jeans off, ignoring the outraged 'Oi!' from the blonde. His own pants were removed with much more finesse. 

Spike looked like a work of art, laid out on the bed, alabaster skin contrasting nicely with the black t-shirt he wore. But nice as the shirt was, it was in the way. Angel tore the material in two and pulled it roughly from under the other man. Spike scowled at him, but the expression soon changed to one of pleasure when Angel's mouth latched on to one dusky pink nipple, sucking and licking it to hardness before lavishing the same attention to the other. 

Spike moaned. Kneeling between the blonde's legs, Angel trailed one hand lightly over the spread thighs, brushing softly against Spike's balls, making the blonde writhe beneath him. One of Angel's thick fingers found its way to the tight entrance to Spike's body. He probed the ring of muscle for a while until Spike's balls were drawn up tight and Angel's own need was reaching boiling point. Spreading the thighs further apart, Angel replaced the finger with his cock, hard. 

Spike let out a yell of pain, but his erection didn't flag. If anything, his arousal increased. Angel angled his hips to hit Spike's prostate with every stroke, moving slickly in Spike's blood and copious amounts of pre-cum. All too soon, he felt the familiar tingle of approaching orgasm and the soft grunts from Spike let him know the blonde was in a similar state. 

He reached for Spike's cock, wet with pre-cum and nearly purple with need, determined to bring his Childe over the edge with him. One touch to the damp cock-head was all it took, and Spike came with a shout of “Sire!” 

The sensations of Spike's muscles rippling around him, the sight of Spike's cum coating the pale chest and the passionate cry sent Angel spiralling into his own completion. 

When the haze of pleasure subsided, and both had finished panting for unneeded breath, Angel pulled out of Spike's body and lay down next to the blonde. Spike grimaced as Angel ran a finger through the cooling cum on his stomach. 

Angel reached down to the floor and retrieved the shredded t-shirt he had taken off Spike and cleaned first his Childe's body then his own. 

Spike looked at the torn cloth. “I can't leave town until you buy me new clothes. Those were the only ones I had on me.” 

“I'm not buying you clothes, Spike.” 

“I guess I'm not leaving then,” Spike grinned. 

Angel grinned back. “I guess you're not.” 

  
  


  



End file.
